


Nostalgia

by CardnialCopiaReadsYourSlashToRepent



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop, Beezelbub (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Is Not Crowley (Supernatural), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Dinner, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Crowley, It was a long ride but now we’re here, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentioned Gabriel (Good Omens), My First Fanfic, Nostalgia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Armageddon, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-15 00:18:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardnialCopiaReadsYourSlashToRepent/pseuds/CardnialCopiaReadsYourSlashToRepent
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale decide to lose a few brain cells drinking at the Ritz, Post-Armageddon, to forget all the chaos they've gone through in the past 11 years. End up remembering better times





	1. Chapter 1

The waiter approached their table for the seventh time that night, carrying with him the seventh and eighth bottles of wine Crowley and Aziraphale graciously accepted. It was the day after the Armageddon that had not to be and they be damned if they weren't going to celebrate their newly found freedom anywhere but the Ritz. Crowley had been begging to go lose a few brain cells after the world collectively lost its marbles and surprisingly resurrected itself. While Aziraphale, on the other hand, was just happy to get to have a nice evening with the man that made the world worth fighting for; getting stone cold drunk to him was a side effect of the demon's presence. Nothing had particularly led them through the eight bottles of expensive wine, but the more they drank the more the hellscape from the previous evening seemed to fade from memory and that lifted the dead weight sitting on both the Demon's and the Angel's shoulders.

"Angel, getting absolutely smashed with you is fun in all," Crowley uddered in between sips of bottle number seven, "but I can't help - I can't help wondering when we started doing this thing in the first place?" He placed the bottle down gesturing to the lovely white table set between them.

Aziraphale was caught off the guard by the question. He had been stumbling his way through his interpretation of an encounter with a special angry goose from a couple of months ago "I don't think I have a clue either." Aziraphale picked up bottle number eight and started to pour himself a glass, trying to look a tad bit more classy than Crowley who had given up his crystal for just straight drinking from number seven. "Yeah, it's been a long time since I took you for our first dinner." Though it was Crowley's job to do the tempting, Aziraphale had been quite good at getting Crowley to follow him to all matter of places: the park, the bookshop, and many different pubs and bars throughout the centuries. Sometimes, Aziraphale would even be alone at a movie or a show, watching Pyramus and Thebes or Cars 2, and would mysteriously find the Crowley had been there too.

" I remember when we were in Rome," Cowley commented back, smiling", and you made it your duty to get to eat oysters from - oh I can't remember- some silly little stall at the market." 

"What a time," Aziraphale thought out loud picking up his glass and taking in the color, "I think you should have gone. Shame" He switched his eyes to Crowley who tried to hide his blush by burying his face in the green of the bottle. He noticed that out of all the times he snuck glances at Crowley throughout the evening he always caught him trying to disguise his little moments of weakness with something more intimidating. Aziraphale failed to understand why Crowley wanted to seem better than himself but found the tiny acts endearing none the less. He supposed demons wanted to seem tougher but haven't meant another person from hell to compare him to, so he wrote it off as something cute only Crowley did.

"Since then, I don't think I've eaten a single oyster; out of spite, of course." Crowley lowed the bottle and chuckled. "When were you thinking about redeeming that missed opportunity with me, Angel"

Aziraphale was caught off guard yet again. "Next time I get you alone, I suppose"

"HA," Crowley snorted, "Next time you get me alone. Hahaha, don't think you'll keep me away for long, Aziraphale. Don't really plan on leaving you anytime soon, after losing you to that fucking loony witch hunter."

Aziraphale was crimson. He hadn't meant it like that. He wouldn't ever think of intentionally taking advantage of Crowley. It wasn't in his nature; though Aziraphale did know of sometimes when he had thought of doing so, albeit kind-hearted scenarios, like wanting Crowley to miracle a thing or two or using his sad eyes to get Crowley to go places. However, he just gave him a thin-lipped expression of shock.

"That's quite nice of you"

Instead of leaping over the table to pummel him or throwing him against the wall, Crowley just gave Aziraphale a sheepish smile and continued to finish his wine. The silence grew around them; the Angel mortified into quiet while the Demon seemed to be enjoying the other creature's shock. He kept grinning into the bottle and Aziraphale kept giving little secret looks now and then, wondering why he was so prized by Crowley that he threatened to never leave. Aziraphale thought maybe after decades of fighting over the good and evil in the world, staying together would be a wonderful change of pace.

"You know I think I asked you to dinner the first time," Crowley tilled his face into a slack-jawed frown, " Though I can't recall what it was, probably something-something with a lot of water, " He stared up trying to remember. 

"Ah, you're thinking of when we went to that lovely little Island, Lido, was it? Outside of Venice?" Aziraphale put his face into his hands and peered across the table. Lido was wonderful, he thought, looking out to the Mediterranean on all sides, and recalled walking from one pristine view of the sea to another of the bay between Italy and the small sandy beach. He did remember Crowley tempting him to go two times. One being around 200 BC and the other last September for the Venice film festival. He was nostalgic for both occasions but preferred the ladder, since Crowley, damn his forsaken heart, made an extreme effort to make the festivities the bests of times for Aziraphale, as the angel normally loved books to the movies. It was steady times, and it lead to them going to watch more films together. "What a lovely time we had. Loved the Bradon copper movie."

"Bradon Copper? Uh, Bradley Cooper, Angel. You can at least pretend you like spending time with me." Crawley slurred putting the empty bottle down with a thwack. Aziraphale new he got a little delirious drunk but was, not for the last time that evening, surprised and very aggravated.

"Now you take that back. I'm smashed, Crawley. Sorry. I can't think straight. You know I like going out with you and you, deep down in that cold heart, like it too. That's why we've been doing this so long and got so many memories of it. You're just absolutely smashed too." Aziraphale got out of his seat and leered at the demon. Crowley's angry appearance melted.

"Sorry, Angel. I didn't mean - mean it like that." Crowley stood and motived his hands towards the front of the Ritz, "Should we be going now, I think I've had enough for one night."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You go to fast for me, Crowley"

Aziraphale and Crowley exited the restaurant, jumping in the Bentley for possibly the millionth time together and started heading down the street in silence. The Angel stared out of the window, reminiscing in the evening. Most of the night was going swimmingly but blamed himself for making it awkward. Aziraphale wished he could prove to Crowley how much he did like him. Maybe another movie, but what would films do if it just made Crowley question their relationship. He thought he always went out of his way to make Crowley smile. "God," he prayed in his thoughts, "if I don't make him happy going to dinner with him, then please, show me what would," cause the world knew Aziraphale would do everything for Crowley. He switched his eyes to the driver. Caught in traffic, Crowley was almost asleep at the wheel.

Aziraphale realized Crowley's hair was almost the color of the wine. Side by side, closer than across a table, it was noticeably more brilliant. The red captured the light from the streetlamps and shined a beautiful color of Asters. He was staring and Crowley started shifting in his seat in the quite.

"Sorry. For the scene. Didn't mean it like that. I know you, I should start acting as I do." Crowley murmured softly as if breaking the silence in the car would destroy both of them. He still stared out towards the car in front and didn't dare look back at the angel. Aziraphale sighed. "Maybe we should drink less. Films seem good with me. We could go back to Lido. I promise I won't be uh - unbelievable drunk at least not all the time we're together." He smiled at that and eased the Bentley up a few yards. 

Aziraphale eyes just doughed at Crowley blaming himself for something he did. "Don't blame yourself." He said softly.

"Then who? It was me who got us into the Armageddon and what not. Hard not to blame myself for everything." Even though he covered his eyes with black-tinted, it was obvious that Crowley was disturbed. Was this the alcohol? Aziraphale didn't understand. Crowley was so cold and forward, it was hard to see him be all fuzzy emotionally. 

"Stop that. Stop the Car"

"If you'd stop ogling me you'd see the car has been stopped for the past fifteen minutes." Now, Crowley looked over at Aziraphale and noticed his stern, sad expression. He quickly buried his face in the steering wheel. Again, Aziraphale thought of his mannerisms and found an oddly pleasant reminder that the demon was still there with him. "I'm so sorry, Angel, my pride is getting the better of me. I need - I need to shut up, don't I." Crowley got up and straightened himself out, and returned his gaze towards Aziraphale. "It's just all the chaos has gotten my bones twisted up, I can't stop thinking about it. Maybe the wine wasn't the thing I needed after all -"

"Crowley, stop that," Aziraphale stated sterner than before and the demon tensed, "Stop blaming yourself and the wine and fucking pay attention to me and not the bloody road." He softened a little bit to seem less angry than he was, "You, despite your tenacity for disaster and guilt, are a stupidly solid bloke and I love to go places with you and see fucking Braden Copper movies... But you got to get a grip of yourself, Crowley, and tell me what you're happy going on from here with. Cause I'm in the dark. I don't care if alcohol is involved or not I just want to see you as happy as you were before heaven and hell hit the fan." Aziraphale signed again and placed a hand on Crowley's shoulder, trying to cool any burn he might have caused with his words. Aziraphale couldn't handle himself when something he said hurt anyone, especially Crowley, but hated to see his one and only friend in such pain.

It was quiet again for a while down the road. Aziraphale never took his hand away from Crowley and in return, Crowley continued to look as disturbed as he was before. Maybe because of the Angel's presence in the Bentley or his words striking a chord, Aziraphale couldn't tell, and just stared at Crowley, the perfect mess he was. He couldn't help but remember all the times they've fought. They've bickered in the Met, on many occasions crossing the English channel, he thought the even bickered in Lido, over the people receiving awards. Aziraphale could help but wonder if their positions as demonic and angelic made them naturally juxtapose in everything. Then why would he always want the best for him? Always liked to see him smile and laugh. Oh, Aziraphale was confused and his stomach was full of butterflies. 

Soon they came to Aziraphale's book store and the car stopped. The Angel gave a glance over to the Demon and started to crack open the door to leave. Before he could slip out, Crowley latched a hand to Aziraphale's. 

"Um- YOU" He blurted out as if he didn't realize he was speaking," You wouldn't mind if I stayed at your place tonight?" Crowley spoke sheepishly. "If anything I want to start off the rest of my time on Earth talking to you, Angel." Aziraphale was shocked by the confession but could help but give in to the request. Crowley's face lit up, let go of Aziraphale's hand, and jumped out of the car.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank yall for reading this far. This is my first fanfiction and I'm so excited that anyone at all is reading it so thank you so for supporting me.  
> Can't tell ya how much of an honor it is to get so many hits so fast, I hope I can make more fanfics like this in the future.  
> Love all of yall and thanks again,  
> Cardinal Copia

The Demon and the Angel had been talking for hours. Aziraphale had done most of it, talking about his time in France during the French Revolution and how he was almost beheaded since he dressed like a dandy. He would never admit it out loud, but that was the first time he noticed the good inside Crowley and the memory warmed him with a funny feeling he recognized from his romance novels. Crowley, on the other hand, was still silent only interrupting his new quite streak with a grunt or short 'yes' or 'no'. It was nice, Aziraphale thought, just him, Crowley, and Nostalgia. He could be here forever, just staring at the Demon and talking about better times. Though, if he was to speak his greed, he wanted more. He wanted to consider Crowley's offer, to do more movies but knew that was not what either of them wanted. God hadn't given Aziraphale what he asked. He wished that this whole situation between him and Crowley would just blow over and they'd be able to go get crepes in Paris like they use to, but something nipped at the back of his mind that he would never be satisfied with it. 

"You know what, Crowley, I have a suspicion you're not entirely ticky-boo," Aziraphale stated hushedly to the sack-out demon in an armchair not too far from his. Despite his usual efforts to conceal what he would consider acts of weakness, Crowley was holding hostage to two throw blankets Aziraphale prized from the seventies and a gigantic amount throw pillows, captured from all around the cramped book store. Under his fort, Crowley cackled sarcastically.

"Not ticky-boo? It makes me sad you have no faith in me; I'm doing so wonderful listening to you go on about France I almost- almost could be passing out in this chair. Creature comforts I suppose." Crowley dramatically got out of his nest of linen and cotton, sitting on the floor in front of Aziraphale's seat at his desk, and folded his hands into his glasses to take them off. His bright yellow eyes glowed in the quaint darkness around them and reminded Aziraphale, once again, that the magnificent creature on his floor was his own savior of mankind, making him feel an attachment to Crowley, promoting himself to join him on the ground as well. 

"Then you can spend the night here. I promise I won't bless you while you sleep, but," Aziraphale struggled to get the words out, "But, you must tell me what's wrong? I've been talking all night only seems fit for you to get a turn." He turned around to grab his hot Cocoa off his desk and meet a closer, more sprawled out Crowley than before.

"As I said, my bones are twisted up. That's all. Nothing a moment passed out drunk on your floor won't handle." Crowley stared at Aziraphale. Not being altered by the glasses, his eyes looked puffy and red-ish. Seeing him in such a state triggered the Angel in Aziraphale to comfort him, putting his cup down and grabbing his favorite blanket from the fort and draping it over the Demon in distress. Crowley let himself be wrapped up and Aziraphale placed a loving hand at the small of his back, allowing Crowley to scurry away with the throw in tow if he became overwhelmed. Despite what Aziraphale thought he'd do, Crowley just sat up straight and rested his tired eyes on the Angel's Shoulder. "Thanks, Angel," Crowley whispered to his companion beside him, stretching a hand across Aziraphale's other arm to pull him even closer. 

"I think," Crowley stated, "I think I can't stand to be without you and yet I irk to tell ya that for some reason." He grunted amused by that thought and meet the Angle's gaze between them. Out of all the times, Aziraphale glanced at Crowley, across tables, or rooms, or airstrips and thought about all the brilliantness in his features, Crowley's red hair, and sculpted face, this time was not any of those. He looked onto the Demon not with Infatuation for his beauty or lust for his looks, but a true and wanting love for his warm heart. 

"Oh, you slippery fiend," Aziraphale laughed, realizing his prayers had been answered, "Your scales aren't going to push me away. If so, I'd have to smite you."

Crowley chuckled and smiled coy daggers at him, "You're going to smite me? Yeah? How you gonna do that without a flaming sword?"

Aziraphale inched his face towards Crowley's, staring down the newly alight hellfire in his companion's gaze, "I think like this.", and kissed him softly.

Aziraphale knew now what he wanted to do: he wanted to be in love with Crowley and never be alone for the rest of his days. He wanted to kiss Crowley at Lido, Greece, and France, and on those many fairy rides on the English channel. Aziraphale wanted to feed ducks with him at the park for eternity if he knew that Crowley, loved him too. God put up a sign that that was going to happen when Crowley shoved the Angel towards him and kissed him back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Redbox is dead but I can't help but think of Crowley and Aziraphale walking up to a Walgreens to get fucking Cars 3. And Crowley going "wow" for the next 6 days afterward.

They have stuck together like peas and carrots. Crowley and Aziraphale kept their promises and never left each other sides. They went back to Greece and finally had those Oysters that Crowley was missing out on, they went back to movies (Redboxed Cars 3 and the Demon would not stop imitating Owen Wilson) and when they weren't going places they were hanging out. Crowley would crash at the bookstore, slither between a few shelves, and stare at his beautiful angel as he read. In turn, Aziraphale would sometimes cradle him in his snake form and give Crowley a warm place to wrap up. Crowley was having a ball of a time, he thought that throughout all the centuries that he and the Angel stalked the Earth this had to be some of the best. However, Both seemed a tad not good, though Armageddon had been avoided, they lived in constant fear of retaliation from Heaven and Hell. Crowley wondered when Beezelbub would what to go for round two, knowing her, she wouldn't be satisfied till he was wadding in the fields of Asphodel with the rest of the damned. The idea of dying, or worse, Aziraphale dying, disturbed him greatly. Crowley began to put up walls to distance himself from Aziraphale in case he did end up leaving it. Of course, the kissed, they watched stupid films together, but Crowley began to take it with a grain of salt.

One day Crowley tempted Aziraphale to lunch near the Thames and snuck outside for a smoke while he left the Angel to his Cucumber sandwiches. He'd never was a smoker. Even though he did consider himself pretty into it during the 1900s when the trend popped up and he did blame himself for its popularity, he never smoked as a relaxor like he started doing in the recent weeks. Crowley leaned up against a wall outside the little sandwich shop when a dreadful smell started to come from the water of the river. At first, he figured some bloke had a vape pen full of shit but as he got off the wall to investigate the water, the odor got stronger and the feeling of hatred became almost palatable in the mist. He knew this scene. Flies began to fly off the surface of the Thames and a short person began to ripple out of the water in front of him.

"Beezelbub, " Crowley spoke horsely in the horror that his worsed fears had come true. "Out of - out of the drink are ya?", To escape looking weak he'd always buried whatever it was in something more intimidating like violence or throw pillow. However, he feared he lost his edge after snogging an Angel for days on end so humor was his next best defense. 

"Well I can say you too aren't a sight for sore eyes, but it looks like we've both been damned." The demon lord tried to match his sarcasm but she was always anything but funny. Beezelbub miracled herself out of the water and leaned against the spot on the wall Crowley was before. "I can say that even though you and our master have been at odds for the past couple months now, you've been doing his job pretty well." The flies followed their lords and Crowley had to swat away a few attracted to his smoke.

"Doing his work? Are you thick?" Crowley was confused. To him, he was doing the opposite. Fluffy blankets and hot cocoa every week wasn't exactly what he thought Satan did lowkey. "You lying sack of flies." He stomped out his cigarette bud and started to walk inside. Then the hatred in the air baked and Crowley found it almost impossible to get out of his head.

"He's fell from grace you know," she motioned inside the sandwich shop, "I bet Cerberus' tail if Aziraphale tried to brandish his wings he couldn't. Probably pull out a few feathery stumps if you checked them out." Crowley furrowed his brow. His pride was getting to him, he believed his Angel was the purest thing in all the cosmos. Sure Crowley knew Aziraphale wasn't always great all the time, his angel did almost kill the antichrist with a gun that launched bricks, but he was sure despite some of his diluted properties, he was a saint through and through. "You've fallen, both of you. It's pathetic, Crowley. I think if something sinister was to happen to him, you'd rather trade your horns for halos than find your 'angel' being tortured by brimstone. What you're doing to him, he'd probably like it. Wouldn't mind if I stole your boyfriend for a few? If he hasn't yet lost his wings I could surely pull them out for you- "

"Shut it, you mong, " Crowley snapped back. "Boil me in holy water or smelt salt into my eyes but you don't dare touch him. I'll fuck you up if you even think of breathing on him."

"Bet!" was all she said as the sandwich stop fucking exploded. 

"NO!!" Crowley didn't care if she was once a woman, he socked her right in the nose. Beezulbub hit the wall and staggered. The demon lord's eyes blazed and in a storm of flies, she vanished.

Crowley hit the ground running into the little shop. There was no smoke, no fire, just plaster and shards of glass everywhere, but it burned his heart to find no one was in the shop, no one alive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somethings a little not tickety-boo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Aziraphale's having a great time.

The waiter approached their table for the seventh time that night, carrying with him the seventh and eighth bottles of wine Crowley and Aziraphale graciously accepted. It was the day after the Armageddon that had not to be and they'd be damned if they weren't going to celebrate their newly found freedom anywhere but the Ritz. Crowley had been begging to go lose a few brain cells after the world collectively lost its marbles and surprisingly resurrected itself. While Aziraphale, on the other hand, was just happy to get to have a nice evening with the man that made the world worth fighting for; getting stone cold drunk to him was a side effect of the demon's presence. Nothing had particularly led them through the eight bottles of expensive wine, but the more they drank the more the hellscape from the previous evening seemed to fade from memory and that lifted the dead weight sitting on both the Demon's and the Angel's shoulders.

"Angel, getting absolutely smashed with you is fun in all," Crowley uddered in between sips of bottle number seven, "but I can't help - I can't help wondering when we started doing this thing in the first place?" He placed the bottle down gesturing to the lovely white table set between them.

Aziraphale was caught off the guard by the question. He was sure he heard that before. He had been stumbling his way through his interpretation of an encounter with a special angry goose from a couple of months ago ,"I don't think I have a clue either." Aziraphale picked up bottle number eight and started to pour himself a glass, trying to look a tad bit more classy than Crowley who had given up his crystal for just straight drinking from number seven. "Yeah, it's been a long time since I took you for our first dinner." Though it was Crowley's job to do the tempting, Aziraphale had been quite good at getting Crowley to follow him to all matter of places: the park, the bookshop, and many different pubs and bars throughout the centuries. Sometimes, Aziraphale would even be alone at a movie or a show, watching Pyramus and Thebes or Cars 2, and would mysteriously find the Crowley had been there too. 

The lights in the restaurant flicked, and Aziraphale was zipped out of his thoughts. "How odd", the Angel muttered under his breath. Then with more emphasis, the chandeliers over there heads shook violently and all noise that possibly filled the Ritz, silenced, like god unplugged the sound from the scene. Cowley said something inaudible, smiled at him and hid his face behind the emerald of number seven as if he was embarrassed by something said. Aziraphale was confused as all get out. For a second he thought after six thousand years he finally went deaf with age.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale heard himself state plainly, but Crowley continued to sip his wine as if the Angel was the wind. "CROWLeY?" He said again and Crowley silently, convulsing, fell onto the table. "OH GOD." Aziraphale shot out of his velvet chair and tried to shake the Demon as if securing him would return there night out back to normal. However, his hand slipped through Crowley's form and hit the expensive table underneath. Aziraphale was terrified. "Oh GOD CROWLEY?" he shrieked clutching his hand to his heart. Taking a few steps back, he expected to feel the weight of another table to his back but got nothing and fell backwards, hitting the floor hard. This couldn't be happening. He was just eating a lovely meal with the great man in his world while the world went to hell. 

'Hell' Aziraphale thought. He must be in Hell, though the last time he went as Crowley it was dark, cramped, and industrial. No, this couldn't be Hell. This was worse. The Demon continued to seize on the table and the Ritz began to shake again.

\------

Crowley was ardent. He felt dangerous and he wanted to kill everything in Britain. He was terrified of his rage. Aziraphale was gone and nothing. He remembered the time before the apocalypse when the Angel disincorporated and it felt a hell of a lot like that. Crowley couldn't find a speck of rubble that even suggested that anyone had been there, none less his pastel friend. "NO, GO- SATAN YOU CAN'T HAVE MY BOYFRIEND!" People began to crowd around the sandwich shop and Crowley continued to shift between ceiling tiles and bricks to prove his hunch wrong. Beezelbub couldn't kill an Angel, could she? Aziraphale couldn't be dead. He couldn't go to heaven. They were both traitors. However, Crowley didn't want to think Aziraphale was in Hell. He didn't want to think about him getting ripped apart in a Magma chamber or stuck in the dark, but he wasn't sure if that was entirely where Aziraphale went.

He couldn't think of anything that would send Aziraphale to Hell. 'Maybe', he thought, 'Maybe for betraying his divine duty. Maybe for killing kids on multiple occasions. Maybe for loving another man', Crowley let the thoughts swim around his head while he sat in the corner and began tearing up. He had to speak to a higher authority if he was to get his Angel back. Crowley wondered if he needed to contact God herself to figure out this mess the Demon Lord caused. 

However, Crowley didn't want to do anything. It was an awful, selfish part in him that wanted to do nothing and roll with this new reality. The worse thing had happened again and he was done putting up with it. He also wondered if he was uninheritly planning to leave Aziraphale. Smoking. Feverish paranoia and forseen thoughts that one of them was going to abandon the other. Maybe that was just his issue, Crowley considered, but he reasoned with himself, got off the floor, and head to his Bentley. 

He wouldn't let his demonic brain stop him from getting back the only person in the world that would put up with him. The only person that went out for lunch with him, and picnics, and Lido. Crowley got in his car, inched up to the steering wheel, and launched his car to the only place in the world he could think would have answers: Aziraphale's bookshop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was total copyright and Crowley finally knew that he had to get real dull if he'd were to understand..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, didn't know if I wanted pastel dad to be in there nine months or nine years. Hopefully, goth dad can save the day. 
> 
> Here's a nice queen song that has some Good Omen vibes,   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61PJA3r6R4s

The waiter came to their table for the hundred and eighth time, bringing with him the seven hundred and fifty-sixth bottle of wine, which Aziraphale himself graciously took from him. Even though the Angel knew the waiter couldn't hear him, he thanked him anyways and looked at the figure across the expensive table. Aziraphale had propped Crowley up with another table's tablecloth, tieing him down to the chair so he won't fall over. He figured out that even though he couldn't touch anything in the scene, other objects could influence one another just fine. So, he used the two objects he came into the nightmare with, chair and glass, to manipulate the world around him.

Aziraphale also figured out that the events before him seemed to be in a continues loop. Starting with the waiter bring him wine and ending with Crowley touching his hand. However, as the scene played out, the reality of the situation faded away, causing things in the time loop to distort in unearthly manors and each time the scene reset, most of the carnage from the last play was still incorporated. Aziraphale thought if this was going to be the only memory he was going to live in for the rest of his days, he might as well clean up a bit. In other words, the Angel had dismantled his chair and used the legs to correct the ugly the loop tried to toss his way. Aziraphale also considered spicing up his dull existence too, so he wrote down with nail and wine, different conversations he made up in his brain and played all parts, by himself, out loud, each time a reset occurred. Each loop made the scenario seem less and less like the first, and with it, The Angel's memory of the original scene seemed more and more distant and unreasonable.

"Angel," Aziraphale started trying to imitate the demon, " Going out with you is great, ya know. However, I've had so much of this fucking wine, I've forgotten why the fuck your here in the first place or why all this started altogether?", Crowley seemed to be in the joking mood today and Aziraphale always appreciated his humor. Couldn't remember whenever he took the figure in front of him not as enamoring.

"Oh, dear, I haven't the slightest of clues." The angel smiled as the ceiling began to shake again. The hundreds of bottles scattered around began to thrash wildly but Aziraphale so used to it he shrugged it off and continued. He didn't know how to answer his question of existence but he could change the subject. "I do remember a time when we use to go out and not to the same spot. I think we went to France a lot, or maybe Italy... Anyway, we use to do a lot of crazy things. We used to go to duck ponds and feed the geese."

"Oh really? Never thought - ."Crowley twitched as Aziraphale spoke and the distraction from his make-believe made him want to cry. He could cope with shaking bottles, windows shattering, chandeliers falling, and even other couples in the restaurant convulsing at their seats, but he could never cope when the nightmare got to Crowley. 

Aziraphale stopped himself from going to the Demon's side, and sat on the floor, face in his hands. He didn't want to do this anymore. He saw the insanity and want everything to stop. Wanted the simulation to end. Wanted to see real people, any sort of person at all. He would even be happy to see another Angel if they'd popped by to watch his torture. Aziraphale began to wonder if this was really the trial Gabriel wanted to put him through. The ArchAngel would love to see him suffer any sort but Aziraphale wasn't convinced he'd put him here. He always thought the best of people even when they were trying to put him down. Maybe, he thought he needed to repent for his trust in everything.

Being naive didn't get him far after all; stuck in a loop. Aziraphale knew now he was in a fate worse than Hell, Purgatory, and if his knowledge of the occult served him right, he'd be here forever and a day till God judged that he was either good enough to go to heaven or bad enough to actually go to Hell. In the meantime, he was left to roam meaninglessly through the same day over and over again. Aziraphale couldn't remember how to get out though, and as he balled up on the floor of the destroyed Ritz, he wished that somewhere, somehow, somebody was praying for him. 

\-----

Crowley hunched over the Bible, the Quran, the Vedas, and a pamphlet for Scientology, looking to see if anyone at all was able to describe the extent of power Demon Lord's possessed. It had been nine months since Beezelbub took Aziraphale away from him. He'd posted up in his Angel's book shop after that and had been trying his hardest to find out, through Aziraphale's many many books, what happened. All he figured out though, was that humans' had little to no idea a solid understanding in what evil was capable of. Some humans thought somewhat similarly. Most people thought Demons could possess people, make deals, haunt places, and blamed them for a whole nest of horrible things. Crowley knew that was fact cause he'd done it before. On the other hand, many more people disagreed on the topic. Some thought Demons were purely shrinks and government officials of a satanic degree. Some people that they were purely the act of evil or karma. The whole mess of religions made zero sense to him.

The demon looked up from his books to the carnage the book shop had been turned into. He didn't know what to do. He had read, in this short period of time, more books than he had ever seen in his six thousand years. Frankly, Crowley didn't see how Aziraphale found anything in all the pages, and he didn't see how any of these pages could help him find Aziraphale.

Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. What if Aziraphale wasn't in a place but an idea? Demons weren't very imaginative to Crowley's knowledge. Why would one short Demon Lord do something totally irregular when they could conjure something they saw before? It was total copyright and Crowley finally knew that he had to get real dull if he'd were to understand the thoughts of someone who would use the same trope again in again. He felt a slight pain at the nostalgia of the Dark Times on earth. Demonic dukes and a particular Demon Lord came up to the surface more often to rot the living and drag them to Hell. However, they started a new tradition with a certain group of devote that became one of there favorite pass times in the sixteenth century: Dragging people to a loop of time called Purgatory, and convincing people they need to either pay their way or pray their way out of repetition. It was sort of a limb, but Crowley figured Beezelbub wouldn't do anything less if she couldn't kill the adversary that turned the champion of Hell on Earth towards good. 

Now he just had to find out if Hell wanted him to pay in cash or wishes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He did it,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading my first story, I love yall and I hope you like it. Could bear to end this trip on a sour note.

It was dark. Then it was a very beige color. Aziraphale lifted his head of a different table than an expensive white one for the first time in nine months. He thought he was dreaming; it was a sandwich shop by the Thames. He looked around and made a mental checklist of an old scene. Cucumber sandwiches, hot black tea, stripped oak table, a red-haired man in the window. 

HOLY HELL, he thought. The man walked in from the front of the shop and sat across from him. 

"Crowley." Aziraphale tried to say, but he didn't expect the Demon across from him to respond.

"I'm so sorry, Angel." Crowley choked out. Though his glasses hid his eyes, tears slipped down from the frame. Aziraphale couldn't believe what he was seeing. He jumped out of his seat and tackled Crowley before he had time to prepare for such an attack. Out of all the times he peered at the demon, across tables or picnic blankets on the beach or park benches, he now looked at him with such sincere hatred that the Angel thought he'd smite him right then and there. So he gave his adversary a bitch slap so hard, Crowley was immediately thrown out of his chair. 

"You're a Bastard, Crowley," He glared, pointing at the man on the floor accusingly, "You're a Bastard and a Scoundrel and who has no respect for Angels. But overall, you're my bloke, and you took your goddamn time." Aziraphale doughed up. "You absolute scrub." He couldn't help himself from crying and releasing a massive smile towards the man that made his world worth living again. He looked around again at the shop he was causing a massive tantrum in and then back to the Demon. Crowley was agape in shock but noticed the Angel's anger transformation and shot a sheepish grin towards his aggressor. 

"I - YOU-," Crowley stumbled and propped himself up on one arm and extended the other, "You love me." Aziraphale took his hand, helped him up, and embraced him. 

"I do?" He stated sarcastically, kissing up and down Crowley's neck, who was trying and failing to suppress an uncontrollable chuckle. Aziraphale let him go, just for a second, to get another good look at him. He concluded neither of them would go to the Ritz again. The Angel thought he'd had enough time to reflect on everything he and the demon had done. Nostalgia was overrated. If he wanted to make a memory with Crowley, they could just go do something normal for once in a while. 

"I do." Then he sensed something strange. Aziraphale let his hand drop from his embrace around the Demon stepped back a few steps. Everyone in the restaurant was staring at them. Some pop song played over the speaker next to the cash register. The river roared outside. He still couldn't believe it. Aziraphale fell back into his chair as the fear in the situation hit him like a freight train.

"Angel. I missed you so much I fucking forgot about my bloody plants." Crowley stood there above the table.

"Shut up." Aziraphale was grasping at the situation now. "I was in Purgatory?"

"Yeah, uh... yep." Crowley sat back down. The sandwich shop resumed its normal rounds, and the intensity was lost to every except the two of them.

"How did you do it? Who did it? Why was I there? You know I relived that time from the Ritz around..." He tried to count the amount on his fingers but lost count after five and stared at the Demon with an expecting look.

"Around nine months..."

"NINE MONTHS" 

"I'm so sorry. You don't have to forgive me. You don't even need to talk to me again if you don't-"

"TOOK YOUR TIME" Aziraphale silenced Crowley and looked bug-eyed.

"Well, you can't turn back the clock, Angel, but you can wind it up again." The demon shot him a sinners grin and stole a cucumber sandwich off Aziraphale's plate, taking a huge bite. 

The Angel sunk down into his chair and snorted loudly in disbelieve. "You've thought about that, you tool. That's from Cars 3, isn't it? You've thought about it."

"Bet." Crowley removed his blackened glasses, shooting his Angel full of holes of happiness. His face might have been mangled with tear stains, and his yellow eyes might have been bloodshot, but he was the most Gorgeous sight Aziraphale ever saw. "You wanna get out here?"

"Yes." They stood up and exited the little shop. The two walked side by side for a while in silence, basking in each other presents. Aziraphale felt that strange feeling again and couldn't help but start up his excessive questioning again. "How did you do it?" Crowley stopped in his tracks. 

"You see." He coughed out. The demon hesitated a little. "I made a deal with a higher power."

Aziraphale was stunned once again, he hoped not the last in a long time, and responded, "You made a deal with GOD?!"

"No," Crowley quickly snapped back and began a slow walking pace, "I made a deal with Gabriel."

"No."

"Yeah."

"NO."

"I DID. Out of all the people to respond to the champion of Hell on Earth, your fucking shit stick on the other side decided he would intercept my wish with a deal." Crowley said matter of fact. Aziraphale didn't know where to start so he remained quiet and let his Demon continue explaining himself. "I had to pay you out."

"With what?"

"You won't believe me." Crowley kept on flashing his sinner smile towards his Angel. 

"It's awfully hard to comprehend all this; Surprise me."

"Oh, I just paid you out of the worse fate in existence with pornography." Crowley's and Aziraphale's eyes meet, and giggles bubbled out of them. 

"NO."

"Yeah. You're worth your weight in porn. Each day you were in there was a solid handful of lewd men in pin-up."

"NO."

" I told you that you won't believe me." The demon shrugged. The Bentley was around the corner, and it took until they were in the car down the street till Aziraphale could respond.

"You fork," Aziraphale brain hit the wall. He could think of anything to say so he just stated what he first came to him, "Your plants died so you could send the Archangel nudes for me."

"Don't rub it in."


End file.
